The Jekyll In Me
by InspiredtoRead
Summary: Soooo AU. Olivia's POV...musings around how and why she became a fixer and the daily struggle within her to appeal to her better angels.


A/N: Yes I know, I have NO BUSINESS starting another story...BUT, this hit me like a ton of bricks tonight while I ate dinner and I was compelled to write it. I don't know if this is/will be something you all are remotely interested in but I figured I would give it a shot. This will be a spin-off of sort from For God and Country in that is will take events from the story andexplore them from Olivia's POV but will also look at events that happened in season 1…I envision that it will explain and/or dig deeper into what attracted Olivia to Fitz all those years ago and what attracted her to Jax…It will touch on her relationship with Cyrus, why she is a fixer and possibly her team. This is completely a figment of my imagination with no basis in anything other than the ravings of a mad woman…lol. I warn you, I think it is going to be pretty dark…Like DARK. Oh and completely from Olivia's perspective. I've written an introductory chapter of sorts and depending on how it's received I will write it concurrently with FGoC (without giving away anything away in FGoC or will work on it after FGoC is complete)...Let me know what you all think…seriously, I have no idea how this will go over and am totally nervous…lol

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The Jekyll In Me

Ch. 1 The Beast Within is Me

Nothing is either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. I am neither good nor bad, but my thinking makes it so. This is my mantra and it plays on a loop inside my head – the soundtrack of my life.

Nothing is either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. I was five years old when my grandfather, Pawpaw – with eyes full of recognition, acceptance and understanding – read these words to me for the first time. He would recite them to me throughout the years at various stages in my life whenever he saw the clouds forming and the sun beginning to set. In as much as an adult could help a child, with a child's mind, fight against that which the child does not understand, my Pawpaw fought valiantly along side me in my quest to keep my skies blue. It wasn't until I was about 12 years old that I truly began to understand the meaning of those words and with understanding came adoration for the man who'd first wrote them – Shakespeare. Aside from my Pawpaw, I felt that Shakespeare was the only other person to understand me. And like my grandfather, he did not judge me but rather joined me in my fight.

I am neither good nor bad, but my thinking makes it so. If idle hands are the devil's workshop, then my idle mind was and is the breeding ground for my darkness. My darkness, the only constant companion I've known. In my youth, before my two strongest muscles – my will and ability to compartmentalize – were fully developed, my darkness would sometimes threaten to overtake me. I didn't ask for it and I certainly didn't want it. I wanted desperately to be good, to be happy. God heard my cries.

I was about 9 years old when I realized I had the ability to _earn_ happiness, if only for a moment. Why I had to earn fleeting moments of happiness or light while others seemingly dwelled and basked within it freely and permanently, I don't know. I learned early on that such questions only fueled her and allowed her to grow stronger. In any event, it happened one day during recess as I sat quietly in the corner of the playground watching the other kids play. There was a boy, skinny, brown hair with glasses, leisurely swinging in a swing set when a group of boys came up behind him and pushed him off the swing causing him to fall to the ground and scrape his knee. I was kneeling by his side before I'd even registered the fact that I had moved from my corner. I helped him up, glared at the other boys, and walked him inside the school to the nurse's office. I don't know why I stayed with him while he got cleaned up but I liked the warm, airy feeling that had begun to spread throughout my body. In the moments I watched his frown turn to a smile and his watery eyes shine, there was no struggle within me to singlehandedly keep the sun in the sky and the sky free from clouds. I felt free. I felt happy. But soon enough it was gone and despite my best efforts, the sun set and the clouds rolled in.

One taste was all it took. I was hooked. And like any addiction, I wanted, no I needed, my next fix. Pun intended. Lucky for me opportunities were plentiful. It seems there were many people who allowed their darkness to run unchecked, unfettered by the desire to be better, and those who needed protecting from them. I would later learn, and revel in the fact, that not everything is black and white. I would learn that there was another group of people, those who battled their darkness only to lose at times; and that those people were in need of protecting also. I would be their fixer; and by doing so, I would grow strong while she grew weak. I would be good.

It seems logical then that my career would become one focused on helping people, fixing that which was broken, people who were broken. In these moments of triumph, that warm feeling returns and all is right within me. In these moments, the cage is locked tight around her and the struggle to keep her at bay becomes easier. In a sense I owe her my excellent reputation. One can't afford to be anything but a nun when there is a beast breathing down your neck, raging against the cage you've built for it, desperate to get out.

The irony in my evolution as a fixer is that Cyrus found me and made me. The darkness in him was drawn to the darkness in me. While his darkness strengthened mine, fixing people subdued her. Ultimately his love of winning and his pride in my success, outweighed his darkness' need to break me – to unleash my beast, unfettered by my desire to be good.

I am neither good nor bad, but my thinking makes it so. This is why I help people. This is why I fix people. I fix them so that I can breathe. I fix them so that she will die. Alas, what is already dead is incapable of dying once more. I've long since accepted the fact that she will not go gentle into that good night. But I so desperately want to be good.

This is why I fell in love with Fitzgerald Grant. He is the exception to the rule. He is good – my better angel. His goodness called out to me, drew me in, held me captive. His goodness fought my battle against my darkness for me and allowed me to rest. He is my sun and my blue sky; and in him, with him, there is no room for the clouds. If I could but keep him, she would die. Alas, I cannot for he is not mine. And therein lies the rub. He is married, he is the president, we are impossible. Reality forces me to face facts I'd soon rather forget. Reality is the reason she rises and taunts me as she gains strength. The longer I stay away, the stronger she grows. Yet the longer I stay, with circumstances what they are, the stronger she grows. So I walked away. I continue to walk away. I dive deep into my work. I fix so that I can survive.

I am neither good nor bad, but my thinking makes it so. This is why I wear white. To remind myself - she is not in control. I surround myself with light, with people who are good, or are likeminded in their desire to be good, to remind her - she is not in control.

I did not ask for her and I don't want her. I desperately want to be good. Such is the hand I was dealt. So to deal, I survive; and I remind myself as often as I must: I am neither good nor bad, but my thinking makes it so.

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A/N: Ok…there is it…what do you think? I wrote the first note before I wrote the intro so this can be a one shot or follow along or up FGoC, or disappear altogether and we will pretend this never happened. Lemme know!


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